


Forgiveness

by cherryjam (blueskull)



Series: Sea's WoL Challenge [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Abstract, Gen, General Fic, Viera Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), maybe a bit of a character study, written for seaswolchallenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:55:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24485473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueskull/pseuds/cherryjam
Summary: Time mends wounds.
Series: Sea's WoL Challenge [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1768804
Kudos: 1





	Forgiveness

One of the viera’s long ears twitch as she stares blankly at the slip of paper affixed to the wall.

It should be nothing out of the ordinary. Merely another wanted poster. Perhaps to her, it is as well. There appears to be not a single emotion on her face as she gazes blandly forward.

“Brigid? Are you coming?” The concerned voice of the male miqo’te finally has her crimson eyes flicking away. She gives him nothing more than a curt nod as she follows after him.

Days pass in silence, her mind occasionally drifting. Thoughts of a young girl with goldspun hair, her laughter echoing through the trees as she ties flower stems together. Brigid’s fingers are strong and sure as she flakes away wood to give her latest carving its shape. A lumpy sphere, its true form unknown to all but her.

A new city, a new evening. The tavern is loud and rowdy, annoyingly so — she can hear it even before she pushes the door open. But suddenly, all sound stops.

She is not unaccustomed to being gawked at. And yet, there is something decidedly different about _this_ silence.

One hyuran man at the bar stares at her most earnestly. Cropped hair of gold frames a face out of memory, out of dirty and torn pages. His face is paler than ever before, even when he had been lying upon that makeshift bed, lost in sleep, his clothing bloodied and torn.

She approaches, deliberately. Her gauntleted hand comes to rest heavily on the man’s shoulder. She can feel him tense as she leans forward, expression unreadable. _His_ is like an open book. Shock, fear -- his gaze flicks from her impassive visage to the impressive axe against her back.

He wants to slip from her grasp, but her grip is slow and deliberate as she levels an expressionless stare at him. Finally, her mouth opens to speak.

“I forgive you.” Her fingers tighten their grip, perhaps an action meant to be reassuring. “I forgive you,” she repeats, and the colour slowly returns to his cheeks.

She tosses her new bag of coin into the air as she steps out of the Maelstrom offices. The gil jingles together quietly, and she shoves it into one of her pockets. It sits next to a rose of wooden petals.


End file.
